


all that glitters is not gold

by firewoodfigs



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Classism, Mentions of Sexism, Nobility, Tragedy, Unresolved Tension, characters and tags to be added later, high society - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24719938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodfigs/pseuds/firewoodfigs
Summary: “Fate must be so kind to reunite us like this -”Riza grips his hand so hard, he can almost feel an incoming fracture. Her stiff upper lip makes it clear that she’s not interested in idle chatter. “This is a fate worse than death, if I do say so myself.”
Relationships: Rebecca Catalina & Riza Hawkeye, Rebecca Catalina/Jean Havoc, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 19
Kudos: 31





	1. of old flames and old wounds

It’s impossible to miss Roy Mustang even amidst the crowd of handsome bachelors sprawled out like chess pieces on the tessellated ballroom floor tonight. He sticks out like a sore thumb; five feet eight inches of saviour complex wrapped in corded muscle, armed with a damnably dashing smirk and a lascivious glint in his eyes as he scans the crowd for a particular someone. 

Ordinarily, he might've been content with another run-of-the-mill socialite hanging off his arms, but tonight’s debutante is special - because it is finally a certain lady’s turn to make her official debut in high society.

As if aligned with the stars, the lady enters, dressed to the nines in a stunning blue number; aureate locks done in a tasteful up-do to reveal her pretty countenance in its full glory. Independence hangs off her shoulders proudly, the way diamonds cascade down her neck. Her lips are painted a bright, bloody scarlet, and a subtle blush adorns her cheeks like the genesis of tulips blooming in spring. She’s _exquisite_ \- dangerously so - and even as she trails behind the other girls with the smallest hint of awkwardness in her gait they fade into the background like shadows. 

Elizabeth Hawkeye bows courteously as her grandparents introduce her to the eager audience. Raucous applause envelops her being, and cameras everywhere are quick to go off. She grimaces subtly at the attention, but just as quickly schools her expression and returns to her seat along with everyone else. 

And - quite unfortunately, Roy thinks - they’re seated on opposite ends of the dining table tonight. 

Notwithstanding, his eyes continue to linger on her, and Roy can’t help but notice just how much she’d _grown_ from the last time he saw her. Any childlike roundness that might’ve once rested on her lovely face was replaced by distinct angles and prominent cheekbones, and her delicate, cuplike bosom made her maturity very, _very_ evident. 

Before he can continue his observations, though, he’s interrupted by an inviting, outstretched hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Mustang,” says the girl seated beside him. “I’m Juliette Astor.”

Juliette Astor is attractive, as all upper crust socialites generally are, with a soft smile that beguiles hidden insecurities and vanities. An innate thirst for approval makes its presence known from under fluttering eyelashes. Roy manages a half-hearted smile in response as he shakes her hand politely, forcing himself to make eye contact. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Astor,” he pauses, contemplating his next move. “That shade of blue compliments your eyes very well, I must say.” Juliette grins widely this time. It’s concealed behind a carefully-positioned palm and well-manicured nails, but it’s all very deliberate. All part of the game. 

The other girls seated within his vicinity begin to do the same. They introduce themselves to him, to the other women around the table with all the enthusiasm of old friends reuniting despite any underlying tension that might be there. 

The sea of names are lost on him eventually, but Roy smiles all the same, and they’re disarmed by his charm. 

Dinner is finally served after all the frivolous formalities, the first appetiser of the night being a luxurious beef carpaccio. _Chateaubriand_ , to be specific. There’s certainly no scrimping on a grand affair like this tonight (thousand dollar wines are poured with largesse as a live orchestra plays), and neither would Roy Mustang be skimping on his efforts to rekindle the old flame between _them._

~x~

It’s all very methodical, really, like simple geometric progression. Every so often, a girl will reach out to check her reflection on the back of a silver spoon before puckering her lips in an attractive pout, desire seeping from beneath. Another will bite down on her appetiser slowly, careful not to smear her crimson lips, and chew daintily before flashing a set of pearly whites invitingly at Roy - _a dance, and then a kiss or two?_ Finally, yet another will shyly refuse any dessert on the menu and look at him as if _he_ were the intended substitute of the night. 

Once in a while, Roy responds with an appreciative, crooked grin as his eyes take in the creamy expanse of milky thighs gleaming from the slits of their dresses. But he finds himself getting bored easily, mind wandering back to the girl who’d stolen his heart since time immemorial.

(Riza, however, doesn’t do any of this, doesn’t dabble in any of this needless seduction - but she doesn’t need to, not when she already has him, amongst many other gentlemen tonight, wrapped around her fingers.) 

He continues watching Riza quietly now and then while trying to keep the girls around him entertained with senseless talk. Her back is ruler-straight the way all girls in high society had been taught by their governesses to do so, but the slightest hint of discomfort mars her sharp features - such things had never been her cup of tea, after all. 

Perhaps somewhat ironically, despite their differences Roy had always been more accustomed to such events than Riza. Despite being the Grummans’ - who were practically royalty, even in the world of socialites - heiress, she’d always been disinclined to make an appearance at such events, which to her mind were honestly just riddled with false niceties and fake pretenses.

Neither made for a particularly comfortable night for her. 

Roy, on the other hand, fits in with unnerving ease, despite the fact that he didn’t descend from a long line of aristocrats like Riza, and was perhaps way too good at playing the role of a shameless flirt whenever the need arose. The ladies, of course, enjoyed this terribly. With every crooked grin, every deliberate wink they’re quick to fall head over heels for him.

But of course, it’s impossible for anyone to be universally loved. For every woman who was head over heels over his debonair charm there was someone speaking of him with decided malice, disguised envy. Unlike the others in the room, Roy Mustang was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth - he was raised in a bar (occasionally turned brothel), for goodness’ sake! 

Relative to the people of this perfectly manufactured world, therefore, he’s practically made from _nothing._ An anomaly amongst the crowd of corporate darlings who’ve always had the backs of their disgustingly wealthy families to ride on. 

Which, of course, made him quite the topic of discussion. 

Once upon a time, the yammerings and yakkings might have bothered him, but he’s learnt to disregard the irrelevant thoughts of others. It’s all background noise to him, and if he’s being unabashedly honest he would even admit that he’s come to even revel and relish in such gossip. For he’s made his way _here_ , to this exclusive circle, and being able to unravel the insecurities of the rich with his mere dastardly presence certainly did wonders to his ego. 

“Are you alright, Mister Mustang?” The girl sitting across him _(what’s her name again?)_ asks pleasantly, but there’s a hint of well-disguised jealousy to her honey-sweet voice. 

“Why, of course,” he replies distractedly, placating her with a reassuring smile before turning back to observing a certain blonde. 

Finally, Riza turns to meet his gaze - but it’s met with a baleful glare, as if she’s admonishing him for even existing _._

Despite her infuriation, though, she’s quick to resume her role as the civilised, well-bred lady. Riza turns back to the other bachelors sitting with her after that moment of self-indulgence, keeping up her semblance of perfect calm amidst bubbling champagne and scandalous gossip and julienned vegetables. 

Roy grimaces internally. Of _course_ she would be angry at his sudden reappearance, after his equally abrupt disappearance. 

The girl - _ah, yes, Cornelia_ \- tries again, resting a palm atop his knee under the table. “So, what are your... preferences?” she asks coyly. 

Roy observes her for a brief moment. She’s a waifish lady with splendid brown curls, styled to perfection. 

“Brunettes,” the lie slips from his lips naturally. 

It works like a charm. Cornelia Adler lets out an easy laugh, spilled with prodigality; a blush gracing her delicate features as she sends a coquettish wink his way and sits a little more upright to better display her willowy physique.

Roy smirks appreciatively in response, if only to mask the guilt beginning to flare up his throat. 

The wine quells it, but only slightly. Despite the chatter and laughter around him his mind continues to wander back to a certain blonde incessantly (of course, blondes were his definite preference, but Miss Adler didn’t need to know that). For as much as he wanted things to go back to how they were, he knew he’d done wrong by Riza. Terribly, terribly wrong. 

And though he was inclined to think that his departure was… explicable, he wasn’t sure if she would even be willing to hear his explanations. 

In the end, Roy simply resigns to playing the role of a conceited flirt to belie the turmoil stirring within. The other ladies on the table make his job exceedingly simple, and he does his level best to keep up with Miss Adler’s mindless chatter with well-timed laughter and rakish smiles. 

~x~

As was tradition at every debutante that marked the official joining of society, females were required to dance and socialise with the eligible bachelors lined up before them after dinner. Elizabeth Hawkeye, now a stunning lady of twenty-one was no exception. 

She queues reluctantly behind a slender brunette as she awaits her turn, feeling every bit like a lamb about to be led to the slaughterhouse. 

Her first companion whisks her into a slow dance eagerly. The first song of the night is a traditional waltz - rather unfortunate, if Riza said so herself. Slow dances were, in her opinion, one of the worst inventions of mankind, because it was the perfect opportunity for mundane, aimless conversations. 

“So, Miss Hawkeye,” her partner says, in a husky voice which he must have wrongly assumed to be - _seductive?_ “Has anyone had the good fortune of catching your eye yet this lovely evening?” 

“No,” she replies curtly. _Most certainly not you, if that’s what you’re asking._

“What a pity, Miss Hawkeye. You’ve caught the eye of many gentlemen, myself included.” She shrugs casually, unimpressed by his flirting. 

“How are your shares faring?” Riza asks disinterestedly, but he takes to the bait like a fish. Almost immediately he launches into a speech about how they’ve never been performing better - with the recent acquisition his company has only expanded in size, and the share prices have only been going up ever since. 

Surely, a remarkable feat for someone who’s not even thirty yet -! 

“All in a day’s work,” he quips. Riza doesn’t even remember his name, but she manages a dry chuckle. 

His ramble continues, peppered with a witty joke here and there; an eloquence reeking of opulence. Riza’s lips tug upwards with practiced politeness, but if she’s being honest she doesn’t care at all. Regardless, she’s content to listen to white noise instead of having to do any further unnecessary talking, and he’s more than happy to stroke his own ego in front of the blonde. 

Finally, the song ends, and Riza manages to get a momentary reprieve when he finally lets go of her hand. 

It doesn’t last for long, though. From her peripheral vision she catches a glimpse of a certain _\- damned horse! -_ again. It’s an unwelcome barb at an old wound, one that could’ve been easily avoided if she had just been a little wiser. 

_Ah, the folly of man._

Because, _god -_ it’d been so easy at the start, when they were just somewhere in between acquaintances and friends, back when she was still just Riza Hawkeye. Eventually, though, his aunt had pointed out that she was the perfect girl with the perfect family to raise his social standing, to turn his pipe dreams into a reality with their wealth and power and connections. 

And Riza, naive, silly Riza had agreed. He'd been the ideal candidate to stave off the many bachelors who looked at her with yearning and desire, and suited her purposes just as well. 

So really, it was a win-win for the both of them. 

Riza had thought of him as tolerable, at the very least. He was someone whom she could sustain a conversation with, and was most certainly preferable to another loaded chauvinist who just wanted her to look nice at galas and giggle prettily and flutter her eyelashes. 

Eventually, it became a rather - dare she say, _enjoyable?_ \- companionship. Between dinners under crystal chandeliers and brunch at posh cafes, it seemed like something more than what either of them had bargained for had developed - _trust?_ \- a luxury that the wealthy darlings of their world sadly could not afford. Everything was going fine, though there was nothing to make the relationship ‘official’ (because the term _girlfriend_ sounded disgustingly juvenile to Riza’s ears, as did its counterpart). 

And then, Roy had left without a word, jetting off somewhere to pursue his lofty dreams with the financial backing from her family. _Her family_ , of all things. It made her feel like she’d been nothing more than a pawn on his chessboard, and it didn’t take long for her to come to loathe him in his absence. 

Riza Hawkeye had her pride, after all, and she was not going to let herself be used by some manipulative bastard who conceived of her as nothing more than his one-way ticket to high society. So excuse her if she was affronted, angered by his sudden reappearance; if she couldn’t keep up with all the niceties and gaieties, because _\- damn it!_ \- she had _every right to be._

She feels his gaze lingering on her again, but before he can so much as utter a word she’s ushered to another bachelor again. 

The torturous cycle repeats itself. 

It’s a welcome distraction for once, though. Riza would rather dance with the sandy blonde droning on about his investments and yacht parties and how beautiful she looks, than the raven-haired bastard inching dangerously closer towards her.

 _Patience,_ Roy thinks, as he waits for his turn to finally dance (and talk) with Riza. There’s an uncomfortable lump in his throat, and though he tries to attribute it to the cool, dry air and the countless conversations he’s had to sustain for the night it’s undeniably because of _nervousness._

Nonetheless, he plays it off suavely. The ladies are absolutely enthralled by him. Roy allows a pleased smirk to grace his handsome features before switching partners again. 

~x~

“A dance for the lovely lady?” 

Riza rolls her eyes, but not wanting to cause a scene and draw any more attention to herself she obliges. Very begrudgingly. 

Roy takes her hand gently in his, resting the other on her cinched waist as they glide smoothly across marble like old lovers dancing to a familiar tune - but he can almost _feel_ the displeasure radiating off her skin, despite the gloves separating their palms. 

“Fate must be so kind to reunite us like this -” 

Riza grips his hand so hard, he can almost feel an incoming fracture. Her stiff upper lip makes it clear that she’s not interested in idle chatter. “This is a fate worse than death, if I do say so myself.” 

He ceases the fruitless flirting and keeps his mouth shut. Roy’s lips are pursed in a tight smile as he continues to lead her in the dance. 

The tension between them feels like a violin string strung far too tightly, waiting to snap and slap him in the face at any moment. It’s an unsettling, almost eerie silence, and he scrambles for something appropriate to say in order to break it. 

Nothing comes to mind. The quietness lingers, along with Riza’s frown. He swallows, guiding her awkwardly as they continue to dance. 

Mercifully, the orchestra begins to play a faster-paced waltz. Five steps per measure. The words lay unspoken on his tongue as they concentrate on the steps, adjusting to the rhythm. Roy spins her once, twice. Her dress flutters gracefully as she twirls, a lovely shade of blue that matches her hair, the way the sky complements the sun, and is -

Coincidentally, the exact same shade as Roy’s tie. 

Riza blanches visibly when she realises this. Any fondness for the dress she’s wearing (which, even then, didn’t amount to much) disappears into thin air immediately, and Riza finds herself suddenly overcome with the overwhelming desire to change out of her gown and perhaps incinerate it afterwards. 

Roy, on the other hand, thinks she looks positively _divine,_ and is somewhat pleased that they match even without any prior planning. Before he can control himself, the words pour out like a gushing stream. “You look stunning, Riza.” 

The string snaps. 

“Who said we were on a first name basis, _Mister Mustang_?” she asks, hostility clouding her vision.

For the first time that night, Roy feels his confidence beginning to crumble, but he keeps himself in check. “I do apologise for my impoliteness, Miss... Hawkeye...” he trails off unsurely, but decides that it’s now or never. “Amongst many other things.” 

She doesn’t respond. Roy tries again, waltzing her in time with the tempo. “I mean it, I’m really sorry, Ri -” 

“The fact that you vanished for years without a word after using me for your dastardly plans is _really_ helping your point, I’m sure,” Riza remarks drily before he can finish addressing her by her first name - the bloody temerity of him to do so, really - once more. 

Silence falls upon them once more as the elephant in the room finally makes its grand appearance. Riza feels the familiar jabbing of the old wound that she’d buried deep within her heart once again. It’s uncomfortable, almost painful, but she purses her lips tightly instead of making her hurt known. 

“You… you have every right to be angry with me.” 

It’s the first thing he gets right the entire evening. “You’re right on that front, at least.” 

Roy, at least, had the decency to look shamefaced. He’s speechless for a moment, but he lets his yearning, his longing for her make itself known. “You can’t deny the chemistry we have, though,” he murmurs under his breath, leaning closer to her. 

“Had,” she corrects sharply. “And the last I remembered, you managed to blow up quite a number of things during your chemistry experiments.” 

The insinuation behind her witty comeback is clear. _You’ve blown this one up too._

Roy swallows, choosing his next words carefully. “Look, I’m… well, I’m aware that whatever I did wasn’t the nicest -” 

“Lovely to know that your self-awareness has improved, but I’m not some piece of garbage you can recycle after you’ve realised what it’s worth.”

It’s a bit of a struggle for him to keep up with the beat now, but they continue their dance nevertheless. Being accomplished social dancers themselves, it’s easy to make their movements look natural, graceful like flowing water despite the ongoing argument. 

Roy doesn’t have an answer. No matter his explanations, there’s an undeniably painful truth to her acerbic words. 

Nevertheless, he’s always had a bit of a short fuse - one that only worsens whenever he doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions. The guilt that’s been lingering in his throat all night finally makes itself known in the form of an indignant retort. “I never said that you were a piece of garbage,” he bites. “And… I’m genuinely trying to make amends here, but you’re not even giving me a chance, Ri -” 

“What’ve you done to even deserve one?” Riza counters angrily. 

“I’m back now, aren’t I?” 

“And how, pray tell, is that supposed to make anything better?” 

Their steps slow down as the orchestra’s playing draws near to a close. “Because…” _Didn’t you miss me while I was gone?_

“If you thought I’d just wait around, pining for you during your absence…” There’s a traitorous spark of hope that lights up in Roy’s heart, but it’s instantaneously trampled upon. “You’re terribly wrong.” 

The song finally ends, as does their dance. “Well, have a wonderful evening.” Riza flashes him a beatific smile before kicking his shin with the pointed tip of her stiletto. _Hard._ “And break a leg.” 

“I think I just did,” Roy manages to sputter out weakly. 

Riza gives him a patronising, unsympathetic pat on the shoulder before storming off, leaving him alone on the dance floor with a bruised leg and an equally bruised ego.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the piece I originally had in mind for the royaiweek20 prompt "old wounds", but... I ended up getting stricken with the feels for some angst & hurt/comfort instead. xD also, the dialogue at the end is from gossip girl hahahAHAHA 
> 
> Let me know if you'll be interested to read more of this / see Riza Hawkeye in more haute couture! Feedback and concrit are always appreciated, especially owing to my inexperience in writing multi-chaptered fics :') 
> 
> // 
> 
> say hi on tumblr if you're there, i'm firewoodfigs ^_^


	2. gentlemen prefer blondes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rebecca drags Riza out for retail therapy and lunch, and quite unfortunately they end up dining at the same place with a raven-haired man and his date (who, incidentally, happens to be a brunette that Rebecca had a skirmish with).

Riza awakes with a throbbing headache the next morning. It’s aggravated by the nightmares that had plagued her in her fitful slumber despite the thousand-thread count bed sheets splayed out luxuriously underneath her, and the incessant ringing of a telephone. 

Sighing tiredly, she picks up the receiver in spite of the incoming hangover. After her encounter with someone who she hadn’t expected to see ever again, she’d made the unwise decision of indulging in a wee bit of whiskey. Just a little, really - 

\- but this is the consequence she has to bear. “Hello?” She manages to mumble through her grogginess. 

The high-pitched response from the other line has the unwelcome effect of exacerbating her pounding headache even more. “Riza!” Rebecca calls happily. “I’m back! God, I’m so sorry I missed your debut yesterday, I tried to rush my family back but my mom has some stupid auction to attend at the last minute and refused to leave East City - and I’m such a -“ 

“Calm down, it’s fine,” Riza sighs, interrupting her senseless ramble. The girl could go on _forever,_ like a train without any destination in sight when she wanted to. “You didn’t miss much.” 

“I’m sure I did,” she can almost envision the cat-like grin adorning Rebecca’s features on the other line. “You _have_ to get me up to date, Riza. How about retail therapy and lunch at the usual?” 

Riza pauses for a moment, unsure if she can even drag herself out of bed. She’s not usually so lazy or languid, but the sunlight seeping in through the velvet portieres isn’t helping at all. 

Sensing her hesitance, Rebecca chimes in again. “Look, I know you’re not for frivolous spending… if you’re uncomfortable, it’s my treat -” 

“That’s even worse, Rebecca,” she answers, more so out of instinct than anything. Riza _hated_ feeling indebted to others, and being treated for something she could technically afford just sounded exploitative to her ears. 

This Rebecca knows full well, but her plan works. “Aw, just take it as a reunion with your best friend, then!” 

“We’ve literally only been apart for two weeks, Rebecca,” Riza teases in return, well-aware of where the conversation is going. 

“That’s enough to drive me nuts! Enough arguing, I’ll see you at the boutique - the one that just opened last week - down Fifth Avenue in a couple of hours.” And with that, the line went dead, leaving Riza to drag herself out of bed. No doubt she was happy to see Rebecca again, but hangovers were the absolute _worst._ She slips on her bedroom slippers reluctantly and makes quick work of cleaning herself up in the bathroom, before wandering into the kitchen in search of a cure. Salt and caffeine, was it? 

Apparently, Riza doesn’t even have to search around for long. One of the cooks had noticed her (rather unpleasant) state of inebriation last night, and had taken it upon herself to prepare a convenient remedy of bagels, topped with prosciuttos and avocados and french-pressed coffee. “Had a rough night, Miss Hawkeye?” the middle-aged woman asked kindly, pushing the plate in her direction across the glossy, marbled tabletop. 

“Just a little,” she replies, settling into her seat as she prepares to dig in. 

Riza only barely manages to stifle a moan when the first bite passes her chapped lips - goodness, Miss Temple’s culinary skills never failed to impress. “Thank you, Miss Temple. I really appreciate this. Have you had breakfast of your own?” 

“Not at all, Miss Elizabeth. And yes - don’t take it upon yourself to worry about a lowly servant like me -” Riza grimaces at her words - “I have, thank you.” Miss Temple then ventures towards an ornately carved cupboard to withdraw a glass, which she fills generously with water. “Make sure to hydrate yourself, too,” she winks knowingly towards her. 

Nodding, Riza accepts the drink gratefully. “Speaking of… Not to intrude into your personal affairs, but today’s date…” Miss Temple trails off, giving her a meaningful look as she directs Riza’s attention to the somewhat tacky table calendar. 

She spares Miss Temple a sad, wry smile before going back to the decadent breakfast laid out before her. “I know. I plan to drop by later, not that I haven’t already been doing so.” 

“I know you have.” Not wanting to make things awkward, she quickly diverts her attention to something else. “Well, any other plans for today?” 

Riza finishes the last of her food before proceeding to sip the coffee. The smooth, rich aroma of _hacienda la esmeralda_ \- an expensive Aerugean import - and the comforting dose of caffeine does wonders for her head. “Yeah, I’m meeting Rebecca in a bit,” and before she can even protest Miss Temple has already whisked the empty, crumb-filled plate to the sink. “Thank you, Miss Temple.” 

Dismissively, she waves a hand at Riza without even so much turning around from the running water to spare her a glance. “It’s no trouble at all. Just leave your cup here when you’re done and enjoy your time out with Miss Catalina.” 

“Alright,” Riza whispers gratefully. She finishes her the remainder of her drink quickly before retreating to her room to get ready for the long day ahead, staring at the eclectic mix of clothes laid out in the impressive walk-in closet before her. 

Now if only she could find something presentable, yet comfortable to wear… 

In the end, she opts for a sleeveless dress with a pretty majolica print and pairs it with a set of well-cushioned, ivory heels to arm herself for Rebecca’s intended retail therapy. Carding her fingers through her flaxen tresses, she decides to pin it up in her usual up-do with a sapphire-encrusted barrette, before slipping on a pair of matching earrings. And a few dabs of concealer later, along with a couple swipes of lip gloss that made her lips a nude, elegant satin, Riza no longer looked like a drunken mess, much to her delight. 

~x~ 

“Please enlighten me on why you need another pair of shoes when you have two closets full of -“ 

“Rubbish, Riza. A girl can never have too many shoes,” Rebecca interrupts cheerfully. She says it like it’s a well-known, irrefutable truism, and Riza knows it’s impossible to dissuade her from purchasing the pair of deadly stilettos that she’s currently admiring. The shoes - well, it’s in a lovely shade of scarlet that matches the colour of Rebecca’s lips, and will no doubt accentuate her already leggy figure. 

But it’s also five inches tall, and it _hurts_ to even look at them. 

“How are you even going to walk around in those?” 

“Oh, it’ll work out somehow,” Rebecca replies dismissively before making her way to the counter to request for a new pair that comes in her size. “Anything catch your eye?” 

Glancing discreetly at the pair of black, pointed flats with gold embellishments from the corner of her eye, Riza shakes her head. It looks comfortable enough, and it also has a terribly hefty price tag. 

_Fifty thousand cenz._

“Are you sure?” Rebecca asks again, waggling her eyebrows as she follows her best friend’s line of vision. “Oh, that’s a nice pair,” she says, vocalising Riza’s unspoken thoughts on her behalf. 

The blonde hums in agreement, but otherwise makes no move to take it. Truthfully, fifty thousand cenz is but spare change to them. Money is an inextricable, inseparable part of both their identities, after all, what with being heiresses to some of Amestris’ wealthiest families. 

But Riza’s always felt somewhat guilty, uneasy for spending money that’s, quite frankly, isn’t even hers. How could she, in good faith, spend such an exorbitant sum on a frivolity like this when she didn’t even _earn_ it herself? And yet, perhaps it’s a little hypocritical, considering the decidedly designer-edge outfit that she’s currently decked in (it was a _gift_ , she tells herself). 

Regardless, she tries all the same to remind herself, valiantly, to not fall into the glimmering trap of opulence; to remain unfazed in the face of glamorous luxury.

“It’s fine. I like to control my spending,” Riza quips.

“Well, I don’t,” Rebecca laughs as she hands over sixty thousand cenz to the kind cashier without even batting an eyelid. “I mean, sure, it’s not our hard-earned money, but… we might as well.” 

Riza gives her an indifferent shrug. “Maybe, but I don’t see a need for it at the moment. I’ll pass. One of us needs to not burn a hole in our pockets so we can buy lunch, after all.” 

“Please, you could buy this entire store more than twenty times over and still have plenty left to treat me,” Rebecca grins, picking up her purchase (it’s packed in a luxurious paper bag with a pink satin ribbon) before dragging Riza out of the shop by the arm to explore the rest of the street. 

Sighing, she allows Rebecca to do so begrudgingly, throwing in a few exasperated huffs and eye-rolls for added effect. Riza’s not usually a tactile person, but she’s willing to indulge her best friend. Occasionally, at least. 

After all, in a world where superficiality is an inevitability, an unchanging constant, it’s nice to have a genuine companion for once. One who truly cares about her as _Riza Hawkeye_ , instead of Elizabeth Hawkeye: heiress to the Grumman’s conglomerate empire with a trust fund to her name worth _billions_. 

~x~ 

Fifth Avenue is one of their favourite places for retail therapy and tea. It’s full of elegantly crafted stained glass windows and cobblestone streets, lined with quaint but upscale shops that boast grand collections from some of Central’s most well-sought after designers. Even the most seemingly simple balustrades and lampposts are ornately designed: intricate floral patterns are carved in gold around them, as if paying some sort of strange homage to the people who frequented the area. 

_Welcome, wealthy darlings of Amestris._

Shoes and clothes aside, there are plenty of expensive restaurants decorating every corner, too: for women who need a brief respite after gallivanting around in their heels for way too long. 

Like a certain Rebecca Catalina. 

“I need a break, Riza,” she grumbles after what must have been their fifth store. Riza is more than happy to oblige (her feet are _fine_ , because she had the good sense to don a pair of heels that are humane and possible to walk in), though not without a few sardonic comments at her best friend’s expense. 

“So you say, but you just bought another pair of shoes that have the same effect of making you _suffer_. What are you, a masochist?” 

“Nah, just a vain bitch,” Rebecca laughs. It’s unbridled and bright; a welcome change from the calculated giggles that Riza was surrounded by during yesterday’s debutante. “Let’s go catch up over tea and cakes, you little nag.” 

They end up at the entrance of The Lucid, a posh café filled with plush leather seats and glittering chandeliers; fresh mountains of daisies and peonies and some of Central’s most artisanal, exquisite cuisines and delightful desserts. Despite the neverending queue, the waiters are quick to usher in the two ladies ahead of everyone else with cheery welcomes and courteous bows that, to Riza’s mind, are _way_ too excessive. Rebecca probably has a standing reservation or two here, judging from the way the staff wink conspiratorially at her. 

The waiter leads them to a relatively private corner, assisting Rebecca with the multiple paper bags hanging on her arms like bracelets before conjuring two leather-bound menus from the back of his apron. “I’ll give you two ladies a moment to look. Just let me know when you’re ready to order.” He flashes them an affable smile before retreating to a corner, busying himself with pouring drinks for the other affluent customers occupying the cafe in hopes of a generous tip. 

In the end, they settle for two servings of croque monsieurs and a side of truffle fries to share. Rebecca tops it off with an order of riz à l'impératrice as a bad joke on Riza’s name, which earns an exasperated eye-roll from the blonde. 

She wastes no time getting straight to business as soon as the waiter disappears into the kitchen. “So, how did everything go yesterday?” 

“Fine,” Riza replies primly. But Rebecca knows there’s more to it than just that _._ If anyone’s a morning person, it is Riza Hawkeye, and her hungover, groggy voice when she had called her earlier that day spoke volumes about how _not fine_ the debutante must have gone. 

“No one caught your eye?” 

“Oh, none at all. Most of them were more interested to talk about their shares and stocks rather than sustain a proper conversation.” Riza rolls her eyes at the memory of the man’s failed, miserable attempt at flirting. 

“The male ego is a horribly fragile thing,” Rebecca supplies, eliciting a snicker from Riza. 

“How about you? How was your trip to East City?” 

“Boring as _hell._ I wanted to come back earlier, but mother was adamant on attending this auction so that she could get her hands on this particular bracelet lined with rubies and emeralds that’s what, almost fifty years old? Anyway, she got her hands on it for about four million cenz in the end.” 

If it were anyone else, they might have choked on their beverage, but this is a norm in their world. Riza sighs, unsurprised. Rebecca’s mother has always had a penchant for splurging on exorbitant things like these, even more so than her daughter. 

“Some things never change,” she muses out loud. 

“For sure,” Rebecca nods in agreement. “Enough talk about me, though. You okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Smiling, she turns to thank the waiter on their behalf just as their food arrives. It’s mouthwatering and arranged to perfection. Without hesitation, both ladies pick up the correct forks and knives to dig in, and hum appreciatively to themselves as their taste buds are awakened by the heavenly mix of ham and gruyere cheese. 

“Are you sure? You seemed… troubled,” Rebecca tries again, more gently this time. 

Hesitantly, Riza bites her lip for a moment while sipping on the complimentary water (sparkling, not tap) before relenting. “I had the misfortune of bumping into… Well, someone, yesterday.” 

Any trace of joking around vanishes immediately from Rebecca’s normally cheerful disposition. “Is it who I think you’re talking about?” 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Riza answers placidiy, and - 

\- speak of the devil, damn it! The man waltzes right in at the moment they so much as _think_ of him, with a pretty brunette who fits into The Lucid like it’s her second home. A socialite well-acquainted with the life of the upper crust, no less. 

Grimacing in disgust, Riza turns away in a concerted attempt to avoid his notice. Surely, the fact that he was even invited to yesterday’s event was a clear indication of his elevated social standing since the last time they’d met. So why was he still on this stupid, endless wild goose chase for a golden offspring? Then again, he _had_ always been quite the womanizer before they had their little… thing, fling, whatever. Perhaps it was just another woman to distract himself with, or a way of healing his bruised ego after last night? 

Across her, Rebecca is all ready to spring out of her chair and strangle him the moment her eyes land on his presence. “Calm down, Rebecca,” Riza hushes, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention to themselves. 

But Roy notices her, of course. He catches her eye with a stunned glance that quickly morphs into apology again, mouthing a silent ‘sorry’ as he’s whisked away to another corner of the room by the woman holding onto his arm like a vulture clinging onto its prey. Ignoring him, Riza turns her attention back to the platter of shoestring fries before them, silently pleading with Rebecca to do the same. 

Begrudgingly, Rebecca settles back into her seat, though not without a derisive grunt under her breath. “What’s he doing here with Cornelia Adler, of all people? Scratch that - why is he even here? Is he following you or something?” 

“I sure hope not.” Riza wrinkles her nose in disgust at the thought of that. If he had the audacity to do such a thing… Neither of them would be pleased, to put it lightly. “Wait, you know her?” 

“Yeah. She’s the girl I told you about previously, remember? The one who threw a pissy fit because she thought I was flirting with her man?” Stabbing at a fry with more force than necessary, she chews angrily before continuing. “I don’t think they were even like, _together,_ together _._ Plus it wasn't like I seduced him or anything - he just threw himself all over me, y’know?” 

“Life’s hard when you’re so charmingly irresistible, Rebecca,” Riza remarks drily, predicting the words before they even tumble out of her mouth. 

“Well, of course no one can resist this," Rebecca grins, gesturing to herself. "But - and stop trying to distract me - are you alright?” 

“Yes, Rebecca, I am. I just… I wasn’t expecting to see him.”

“Me neither,” Rebecca sniffs imperiously. Goodness, civility was hard when the bastard was just across the room. “Did he try to talk to you yesterday, then?” 

“Yeah. We had to share a dance - and _yes,_ stop looking so mortified, I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“And what did he say?” 

“Said he’s sorry and what not, but I kicked him in the shin when the song ended.” 

Grinning proudly, Rebecca flashes her a thumbs up. “Atta girl, that’s my Riza.” But she doesn’t miss the subtle, well-concealed melancholy flashing underneath her expertly-curled lashes. “But…?” she prompts. “Look, I’m not going to pry - if you’re not comfortable, it’s okay, but -” 

“I know, Rebecca. It’s fine.” Glancing furtively at the raven-haired man and his date - _Miss Adler,_ Riza concludes that they’re safely out of earshot. At the very least, the waiters had, in an unplanned act of kindness and mercy, ushered him to the other end of the cafe. Any nearer and she might have puked her lunch out. “It’s just… unexpected? I’m not quite sure how to feel, though seeing him certainly... irked me terribly.” 

_And I suppose a tiny sliver of me was… happy, content to see him once more._ But she refrains from voicing that out, as if doing so would make it a dangerous, inescapable reality. 

Rebecca doesn’t prod further. She’s well-aware that Riza’s always had a disinclination for explaining her feelings, and so resigns to giving her a sympathetic pat on her arm as she pushes the dessert towards her. “Here, have some riz à l'impératrice,” she chuckles, not minding that she probably butchered all the words. 

“I’m already stuffed, Rebecca,” Riza groans, digging in with a lot less fervour this time. 

“I know. But you better eat more, since you’re probably going to skip dinner after your visit tonight.” 

“How did you even know -” she says, incredulous. 

“Of course I wouldn’t forget. I’m your best friend for a reason, Riza.” 

~x~ 

To say that his date with Miss Adler annoyed him was a gross understatement. 

Roy had only complied with her request out of courtesy and to halt her persistent badgering, nothing more. She’s undoubtedly attractive, with tall, spindly legs and thick, brown locks that tumbled over her shoulders all the way down to her shapely waist. But she’s also a terribly tenacious one, with an exceptional penchant for ceaseless chatter. No matter Roy’s attempt to cut their conversations short, she _always_ has something in her arsenal. It starts off mildly, with the weather and his qualifications, generic questions like how he’s doing and what are his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, but then it grows into a full-blown interrogation of his dating history, his entire social circle, and _where have you been for the past few years?_

He answers all of them to the best of his abilities, deflecting the question back to her where necessary. To her credit, she’s rather intelligent; not necessarily obtuse. Nonetheless, she’s more than willing to provide answers to his disinterested diversions. Whether she genuinely believes he’s interested, or whether she’s just stalling (because he notices the way her eyes flick over to the duo on the other end of the room every now and then), he’s not quite sure. 

But Roy is sure of one thing: he really, _really_ wants to leave. Especially when Riza and Rebecca make their move, and any opportunity for reconciliation and explanation quickly slips from his fingers like sand. Not to sound like an egotistical, pompous jerk, but what would Riza think, seeing him out on a date with someone else after trying to make amends last night? 

“Well, Miss Adler, I must say it’s been a wonderful time with you - but I just remembered that I have an important meeting to attend. Surely you won’t mind?” 

A disappointed pout and an eager palm caressing his knee is the response he gets. “What could be so important, Mister Mustang?” 

“Business calls, sadly. It’s a shareholder review that I’ve been specifically requested to turn up at.” 

She pouts glumly again, like a petulant child being denied candy. But otherwise, she remains undeterred. “We can resume this some other time, I suppose.” 

_No, but if this is what it takes to wriggle out of your stronghold…_ Roy wishes he didn’t have to play dirty like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “Well, we’ll have to assess your performance today, don’t we?” he murmurs under his breath huskily, hoping it will have its desired effect. 

Thankfully, it does. She’s positively giddy, and her cheeks are suffused with a deep, bright pink. “I’ll have to inform my chauffeur, then. Ordinarily, a _real_ gentleman would offer to send me home, but seeing you’re a busy man...” Roy is quick to usher her towards the phone booth situated right outside The Lucid after paying for them both, while she continues fiddling with his tie.

Miss Adler probably thinks she’s mastered the art of seduction or something... But Roy remains unfazed. His eyes continue to linger on Riza’s fading silhouette as she gets into a shiny, black limousine by herself, with her best friend giving a somewhat disconcerted wave. _Rebecca Catalina,_ he remembers. She didn’t seem to like him that much, even when he was still on cordial terms with Riza. 

Any animosity towards him would’ve probably multiplied tenfold now after the stunt he pulled, then. “Will he be here soon?” 

“Yes, he will. I suppose you should go, before you’re late for your business engagement. Wouldn’t want you to miss an important deal because of me,” she whispers sultrily into his ear before leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek. 

_Right._ “Of course. I’ll see you, hopefully soon,” - hopefully _never again_ \- “and you take care,” he offers as sincerely as he can before sliding into his car (that he’d wisely left parked outside, instead of surrendering his keys to the valet service earlier). The engine comes alive with a smooth purr as soon as he turns the ignition key. Roy trails after the limousine immediately, disregarding the glaring red light; the honks and expletives thrown his way.

Soon enough, they’re out of Fifth Avenue. Uptown emporiums and upscale restaurants are replaced by an interfused mass of corporate buildings and banks as they enter into Central’s business district. With the sun setting in the backdrop, people are quick to rush out of their offices like a herd of eager animals, no doubt excited by the prospect of going home to unwind after a long, exhausting day at work. Roy grunts at the steering wheel in frustration at the congested traffic, but otherwise makes sure not to lose sight of the limousine in front of him amidst the crowd of impatient vehicles and lethargic workers.

Eventually, his thinning patience is rewarded when the traffic lets up. He continues his journey in confused curiosity, wondering where exactly Riza is headed towards. The limousine in front is not driving towards the general direction of the Grumman’s lavishly grand mansion, like he’d anticipated. Quite the contrary: the car veers off into a darker part of town that’s a lot more isolated and secluded, before finally coming to a halt. 

The evening sky; the poorly lit streets and his tinted window makes it hard to identify what exactly lies ahead at first. But upon closer inspection, Roy notices that she's headed towards a building that bears an odd resemblance to a… hospital? No - it’s not a hospital, it’s… 

Dread settles heavily in his stomach like ice when he realises it’s an _asylum._

_God, what the hell happened while I was away?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who read and commented on the previous chapter, I really appreciated the feedback! I ended up being in the mood to continue because I finally got to meet one of my closest friends yesterday after nearly three months of quarantine, and this was the product of waiting for her. xD special thanks to @hirayaart for helping me review this chapter! <3
> 
> also, Riza's outfit in this chapter is inspired by Dolce & Gabbana's Majolica Print Dress. It looks something like this (https://wear.net/item/8776781/), but I was more accurately inspired by Taeyeon's outfit in the Lionheart MV. I'm a sucker for elaborate prints like these, haha. 
> 
> feedback is, as usual, always welcome and appreciated!
> 
> // 
> 
> say hi on Tumblr if you're there, I'm firewoodfigs ^_^


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